


Good Mornings, Good Nights

by AdorableDisaster



Series: The world needs more Rowdy 3. [2]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Amanda teaches the Rowdies to braid hair, Biting, Car Sex, Declarations Of Love, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, F/M, Feelings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Braiding, Happy, I like tagging., I like to think about what the 5 Rowdies do in their "downtime", It's like a scavenger hunt for how I want to describe my story., Kind of some plot?, Kinda, Obvs I'm a fan of smut but I know not everyone is., Pack Feels, Pararibulitis (Dirk Gently), Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Sleepy Cuddles, They bathe in a river cause whynot, Vaginal Sex, energy transfer, in case you want to skip it., smut in chapter 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:24:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorableDisaster/pseuds/AdorableDisaster
Summary: “Well. We do for our own.”  He grunted again, and put out the stub of his smoke on the end of the seat. The acrid smell of burned plastic wafted across them for a moment, but it hardly registered.“I’m one of your own?”  Amanda’s heart fluttered.Martin nodded.  He didn’t look at her. “F’r as long as you wanna be, drummer girl.”- Part of a series.  Reading "Salty, Spicy, and Sweet" first will give you some insight. Thank you for reading!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're as sick for the ship as I am. It's a bit cliche, but so beautiful. 
> 
> I live for comments and kudos <3 
> 
> Please let me know if you see any typos. It's late and I'm tired, but I wanted to get this up =]

The van was a constant. It was practically another Rowdy. Amanda was sure it had a personality of of its own. It growled and clunked agreements and disapproval. She loved this van.

The other car was the most literal interpretation of a “beater” she’d ever seen. It was a weird shade of grey that might have been white at one time, but no one could prove it. Cross had driven it all the way from the junkyard to the field. It was only a few miles, but it was a little odd to not have the entire crew in the van. Truth be told, Amanda was surprised the car made it as far as they did. It was surprising enough to find something in the junkyard that ran. Gripps and Martin had to help push it the last few yards across the grass, with Vogel hopping about in front of them like a bandleader. No one minded that he didn’t help push. He was helpful in his own way. 

Amanda laughed as the boys piled onto their new trophy. They climbed the bumpers, skipped across the trunk, and slid down the hood. Martin whistled, and Amanda slid the van door open. She tossed out their tools, one by one, throwing the heavy bats and crowbars towards her boys. Cross, Gripps, and Vogel caught a weapon in turn, each shouting their gratitude. Martin was last, and he snatched the bat out of the air without looking at it. His eyes were only for Amanda. Martin’s lower jaw jutted out in a feral smile. He pointed his bat at her and growled.

The drummer girl took up her sticks and twirled them, approaching the kill with the rest of pack. Martin practically barked at the others, and everyone took up position around the broken Corolla. The 5 Rowdies threw their heads back and shouted, screamed, and howled into the night sky. 

A bat, a club, a crowbar, and one glorious sledgehammer came down on the scratched and dented frame. Glass shattered and metal caved. Amanda rattled across the headlights, rocking out a beat that the others felt more than heard. Martin knocked off a side mirror, and Cross batted it into the air. Gripps ripped a headrest out through the widow and threw it at Vogel. The younger man caught it and speared it with his crowbar. He hoisted the combo into the air like a scepter. Amanda laughed at their antics, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. 

Now that they had her, the boys didn’t need to feed as often, though the occasional gas station or junkyard still fell victim to their games. Even though their appetites were satiated, they still had needs, or maybe it was just habit by this point. Either way, the gang often stopped at abandoned buildings or found rusted out cars. Vogel insisted his crowbar got lonely when it wasn’t smashing things. 

The night went on this way for a while. The Rowdies shared the tools of their trade until everyone had broken enough glass and dented enough side panels that they were satisfied and spent. One by one they collapsed onto the ugly and ripped van seats that rarely ever actually made it back into the van. 

Someone started a fire in the pit. Someone else opened the cooler of beers. Songs were sung. Stories were told of previous nights, full of shattered glass and glorious howls. 

Amanda didn’t know when she dozed off, but a warm blanket that was almost clean was draped over her when she woke a few hours later. The sun wouldn’t be up for a while yet. It wasn’t the first time she’d fallen asleep outside the den. As usual, one of the boys had stayed outside of the van to keep watch, and smiled when she saw Martin staring into the fire. 

His white hair was muted in the firelight, but his glasses shone with the dancing flames. She stretched under the blanket, and the movement caught his eye. Martin barely turned his head, but is attention was focused on his drummer girl. Her long, pale arms reached out past her head, and his gaze traveled down the soft angles, from her baby blue nails to her black tank top, emblazoned with a logo he could never hope to place. They’d gone with her to get a few things from that lonely house out in the burbs. The boys could share clothes, but Amanda, well… her body was smaller, but strong. There were curves in places that he appreciated. From her curled position, he could see the crease of her chest, and he ripped his eyes away, unwilling to invade her space any more than was inevitable. Sharing a van with psychic vampires made for little privacy in several ways. 

Martin hadn't, or couldn’t, say it out loud, but having Amanda here had changed their world. While they had always been a pack, now they were more. They had new player in the game. An alpha bitch. A little sister. A den mother. A ward. A guiding star. A mate. His head lolled back and a primal sound rolled out of his chest. She was young. He was a monster. She was new to this life. He felt her feelings, but he couldn’t read her mind. 

She needed protection. From herself or from him? The moaning growl came again, unbidden. Just a reaction to the thoughts in his head. Smashing things was easy. Thinking things was hard. Feeling things was the hardest. 

The rumbled noise pulled Amanda the rest of the way awake. She knew most of Martin’s sounds by now. She may have only been with the boys a few weeks, but close quarters meant for fast learning. Vogel and Gripps weren’t hard. They wore most of their feelings on their sleeves, right next to the burn marks and punk rock patches. Cross was a bit more reserved, but loved a good shouting match as much as the other two. Only Martin had much mystery to him. Sure, he talked when it suited him. He seemed to almost enjoy teaching her the right way to hold a bat, or how to strike a headlight so that it would shatter away from her. Even though he was the quietest Rowdy, he was also the most intense. Amanda could feel his gaze on her when she closed her eyes in the passenger seat. She felt the strength in his touch when he helped her out of the van after a long drive. She was aware of his focus while they smashed a target and made off with the spoils. He never drove off until there were 8 feet in the van. He checked in with them all in different ways, and quashed conflict between them before it arose. He rested only when the others were safe, warm, and happy. 

Amanda found herself preening under his gaze time and again. She’d wait until she felt him looking, then she’d twist her hair to the side to expose her neck to the alpha. She waited until he reclined in his seat, then rubbed a bit of lotion over her hands and arms, and was rewarded by watching his nostrils flare as he took in the scent of vanilla or pear, or whatever the boys had found for her that day. She drummed out a beat on the assortment of cans, bottles, and fire rings that always littered their campsites, and watched his toes tap along to her rhythm. 

The others appreciated her too, but they were jovial and easy. She knew it was cliche, knew it was expected, and yet, Amanda couldn’t help but feel herself drawn to him. 

Tonight’s display was no different. She knew he’d be alert on watch. Knew he would see her stretch and twist, since a hunter’s vision was usually based on movement. Amanda yawned and smiled. She sat up, and thought that just maybe, she saw a twitch of his lips as well, but the shadows may have lied. The fire was lower than it had been when she fell asleep, but its warmth flickered over her. 

“You good, drummer girl?” He didn’t look at her, or at least not that she could tell.

“Peachy.” She rolled her neck, and maybe arched her back just a little. He took a long draw from his cigarette, and maybe shifted his hips, just a little. 

Amanda stood. She shook the stiffness from her muscles, and stepped closer to the fire. Long fingers reached toward it, soaking in the heat. She remembered when she’d seen fire on her hands. Remembered the day that the boys, before they were her boys, had rescued her from her own mind, and from becoming a YouTube trending meltdown. She remembered Martin’s whistle. She heard it somewhere just above her screams. And then they were all there. And they were feeding. And she was seeing things. And then her brother was a lying traitor and she ran away to join the circus.

She didn’t want to think about that now. She’d spent enough time and tears on the asshole who’d lied about the most pervasive thing in her life and then tried to buy her forgiveness with a scrap of paper. Fuck that guy. She had new brothers now. But they were better than blood family. They were the family she chose. 

Martin breathed deep as Amanda’s anger flared and receded. His hand twitched on his knee, almost eager to grab the bat and deliver some bad news to whatever was bothering her. He knew what it was of course. He’d been betrayed too. You didn’t get over that kind of thing easy.

He blinked when Amanda stood. She draped the cloak around her shoulders like a cape, and he smiled. Super drummer girl.

“C’n I join you?” Her voice was soft, still thick with sleep. He grunted an agreement and slid to make space for her on the ripped seat. Amanda folded herself onto the ugly upholstery and sat back. Neither of them spoke. The fire crackled, and a few enthusiastic snores came from the van’s open windows. 

“Thanks.” Amanda said suddenly. She didn’t really mean for the seat. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually said it to him before. At least not directly following the passing of a beer, joint, or bat. Martin didn’t even pretend he didn’t know what she meant. 

“Ain’t nothin’.” He said, drawing hard on his slightly crumpled cigarette. 

“Yea. It, um. It ain’t nothin’ at all. It’s a lot of something.” She looked down at her nails, resisting the urge to pick off the new paint. It didn’t really matter though. Gripps liked painting her nails, so he wouldn’t mind doing it again. 

Martin just turned his chin once. Glancing at her without nodding even. Acceptance, but not much more. He didn’t need to hear her gratitude. He felt it. All the time. When she smiled at Vogel’s antics. When she discussed her favorite music with Cross. When she playing clapping games with Gripps. Through it all, gratitude flowed out of her. It was almost overwhelming sometimes, but it just proved to him how much she belonged. 

“Well. We do for our own.” He grunted again, and put out the stub of his smoke on the end of the seat. The acrid smell of burned plastic wafted across them for a moment, but it hardly registered. 

“I’m one of your own?” Amanda’s heart fluttered. 

Martin nodded. He didn’t look at her. “F’r as long as you wanna be, drummer girl.” 

She was surprised to feel her eyes well up. It was nice to feel accepted. Fuck, it was more than nice. It was a goddamned balm on her soul. Feeling like a freak in a cage had been her life for the past couple years, and there’d been too few visitors to her little exhibit. Hard to keep friends and all that. Well, now she had her Rowdies. They were more than friends. This was a pretty ideal symbiotic relationship, she decided. 

Amanda nodded, pressing her chin up. 

“Well, thanks. Think I’ll stick around.” She leaned back against the seat, and Martin could feel her relax.

“Good.” Was all he said.

“Good.” She leaned over, and put her head on his shoulder. Martin did his best not to tense, then shifted so he could wrap his arm around her. In minutes, he could hear her breathing deepen and even out. His drummer girl was asleep again. Martin leaned down, almost touching her head with his nose. He inhaled. Then again. He filled himself with her scent. Once more, and then he let his head fall back against the seat. His mouth opened as he exhaled with less sound that he wanted to make. She smelled so good. She smelled like home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck, I love you.” She said to no one in particular. Her throat closed then, like it was supposed to stop the words, and had missed it’s cue.

Something was different after the night that Amanda fell asleep on Martin’s shoulder. She’d woken up around sunrise with her head on his lap and the blanket pulled over her legs. Amanda remember waking up to the feeling of Martin playing with her hair where it draped over her shoulder. He made lazy circles and patterns against her skin, not even looking at what his hands were doing. The callouses and rough skin scratched in a way that tickled. She liked it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept outside, but she was sure she’d never felt that safe even when waking in her own bed. Every morning was a new day full of hundreds of potential triggers. But here, waking up with a Rowdy touching her… Hell, he could have pulled nightmares out of her faster than any tourist trap dreamcatcher.

They parted ways to take care of morning needs, and by then the rest of the boys were awake and not asking questions but knowing things with their eyes. Cross drove while Martin slept, and Amanda sang punk and metal songs that she knew the boys would like. 

They did the usual, peeling around town and taking care of wants as they arose. The broke a few windows at an abandoned factory, and had a round of baseball with concrete blocks. No one got many runs in. It was another day in paradise for Amanda.

Days passed this way, and then weeks. Everyday contained the pure joy of being alive. They were free and as uninhibited as any hippy commune could ever hope to be. Any shyness Amanda may have felt initially faded away long ago. 

On a hot day they stole towels and supplies from a motel cart and bathed in the river. She blushed the first time she saw the boys naked, but then it was just another thing. No one pressured or teased her. They just waded into the water and whipped bottles of hotel soap at each other. They splashed each other and Gripps dunked Vogel, who tried to return the favor but had no hope of bringing down the larger man. Martin scrubbed the grime from his face, and Amanda couldn’t help but notice how his white hair shone when it was truly clean. She washed her own long and tangled hair, and Cross helped comb snarls out while she was sitting on a sun-warmed rock, wrapped in a scratchy but nice smelling towel. 

Amanda hopped off the rock, and stepped on a broken bottle that had sliced clean through her toes. She could see the shiny ligaments, and the blood flowing into the water. Before she could even scream, Martin was there. His hand reached over the foot she held, and Amanda watched as the blue energy rolled up into him. She saw through the waves, saw her full set of healthy toes wiggle in the shallow water. The pain flowed up and Martin breathed deep. He looked different without his glasses. Amanda wasn’t sure she liked it, but it wasn’t necessarily bad. She looked around, and there was Cross with his hand out to help her up. Vogel held another towel, and Gripps had a pair of clean socks in one hand and her boots in the other. 

“Fuck, I love you.” She said to no one in particular. Her throat closed then, like it was supposed to stop the words, and had missed it’s cue. 

“Love you too, ‘Manda!” Vogel smiled even wider than usual. 

“What he said.” Cross winked at her, his face also unusually clean.

“Can you teach me to braid your hair?” Gripps asked, still holding her footwear. 

Martin stared at her, brows knit together. He nodded, grunted, then stepped to the tree that held his clothes and glasses. He put a fresh bandage across his nose, then resettled the spectacles. Amanda still wasn’t sure if he actually needed them to see, or if they were just an accessory. It didn’t matter. 

The 5 Rowdies dried off, gathered their shit, got dressed, and piled back in the van. Martin drove while Amanda taught Gripps how to braid her hair. He got pretty good at it by the time they parked for the night. Vogel had a few tries as well, and after a few beers, the two of them were attempting to hold Cross down and put tiny braids all over his head. Amanda laughed until she cried, and Martin even cracked a smile. She jumped out of the van when Cross began to flail. Amanda wasn’t entirely surprised that they were back at the campsite with the smashed Corolla. The boys liked to circle around their territory, and they often bedded down at an out-of-the-way place they’d been to before. She helped Martin set up the seats and light a fire while the other three sorted themselves out. Vogel emerged somewhat victorious, though he would likely have a black eye. Three tiny braids bounced on Cross’ forehead as he climbed out of the van. He scowled, but didn’t look particularly deadly at the moment. Gripps climbed out last, chuckling to himself. It looked like there was a bite mark on his hand… Amanda laughed again and rolled her eyes. Then Martin opened the cooler, and the party began in earnest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were thinkin’,” he stood, practically vibrating, “‘bout me?”
> 
> “Yea, old man. ‘Bout you.” Amanda smiled just enough. She narrowed her eyes a bit and lifted her jaw. 
> 
> Martin downright snarled. And then he was on her.

Martin sat in his usual spot, bat on the ground next to him, hilt resting against the seat. He was never far from his favorite tool. Everyone had their favorite toy, but nothing worked better than a weighted bat in his mind. Simple, and to the point. He ran his palm over the smooth wood, reveling in the feel of it against his skin. 

Once again, the other three had fallen into a heap in the back of the van. Amanda considered joining them, as the heap was significantly better smelling than on previous occasions. She wasn’t exactly tired though, just calm and even happy. She stood and stretched lazily, stepping towards the warmth of the fire. 

Martin tilted his head, as though he could see the thoughts rolling through Amanda’s mind. He watched her strong hands roll in front of the flames, taking in energy almost like he did. Her black skirt was loose and flowing. She usually insisted on putting on clean clothes after they bathed. He wondered if she was cold. She was pretty thin still. 

Martin stood and lifted the blanket from the seat where he’d left it. He wanted to be prepared in case she dozed in front of the fire again. He came up beside her and held it out with two hands, open just a bit. 

Amanda turned her head and smiled. She stepped into the blanket, but instead of taking ahold of it and walking away, she turned herself around and leaned back against Martin’s chest. He rumbled a sound deep in his chest, that someone less astute might have called a purr. A beast did not purr. He simply expressed his pleasure in a very honest and primal way. Dammit. 

Martin folded his arms over his drummer girl. Amanda rested her head on his collar bone. He breathed her in, and breathed her out. 

“S’okay if you don’t.” Her voice was clear and strong, but not loud. 

“Don’t what?” His brow furrowed and his glasses bumped her head.

“I’m happy to be here, even if you don’t love me.” She sounded like she was telling the truth.

“Didn’t say that.” A growl caught low in his throat. 

“Yea, well, you didn’t say anything, so I just wanted to say,” he could feel her head moving with emphasis, “that’s it’s okay if you don’t, and I’ll be happy with things the way they are if that’s the way they are.”

This time the growl escaped. He turned his face and rubbed his cheek against her hair. Being the “quiet” one had its advantages. She didn’t expect him to speak for a moment. 

“You know what I was thinking when we did that?” He felt her chin jut towards the ruined car across the circle. 

He grunted a question, still not willing to form words. What if they were the wrong ones? 

“I was thinking, even with all this shit flying and glass breaking and tires popping, I was thinking I’d never felt safer.” She nodded along with her speech. He could see the contemplative way her lip puckered, even though her face was below his. 

“I was thinking about other things I haven’t done in years, or never done, because I was scared.” She pressed her head back against his cheek, leaning into the touch like a big dog that’s happy to see you. 

Amanda stepped forward, and Martin struggled to let her go. He watched her stride towards the remains of the car. Watched her hand come up to stroke the scratched paint. 

“It’s really fucking nice, you know? To not be so scared any more.”

“You never gotta be scared again.” Martin was still holding the blanket. His nails sunk into the fabric. He could still smell her on it. 

“I know.” She nodded, still running her hand over the dented roof of the car. “So, those things I was scared of. Going outside. Playing with others. Love. Sex. Not so scary anymore.” 

Martin’s heart stuttered and his pants lurched. His lip twitched. He blinked slowly, watching the roll of her fingers. 

“So?” He asked, voice deep.

“So, I was thinking, it’d be really nice to try some more things with someone I trust.” She turned to face him now and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She hoped she looked more confident than she felt. But of course, the Rowdy could sense her feelings, so whatever. She was being honest, and that was what mattered.

“Trust.” It was a heavy word to Project Incubus. 

Martin dropped the blanket. He started moving. Just one step at a time. Shoulders slightly hunched. He began to close the distance. 

“So yea, we were bashing this thing up,” she brought her palms down on the doors. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm, “and I though, it be nice to get thrown up against it and fucked.” She sort of shrugged. “It’s been a long time.” She finished. 

“Nice?” He was almost to her. He could reach out and touch her. 

“Well, I don’t fuckin’ know if that’s the best word, but yea. I was thinking I’d really like to get fucked by you.” Her eyes met his. Fire danced on the edges of his glasses. 

Martin dropped his jaw and breathed in. She was so close. Salty and sweet. 

“You were thinkin’,” he stood, practically vibrating, “‘bout me?”

“Yea, old man. ‘Bout you.” Amanda smiled just enough. She narrowed her eyes a bit and lifted her jaw. 

Martin downright snarled. And then he was on her.

Amanda’s back was against the car. It was cold and unyielding. His hands were hot against her thighs. She cold feel the heat through her skirt, and she leaned into it. 

Martin growled into her neck. He pressed against her as she rolled her hips, willing himself to stillness despite his desire. 

“Drummer girl.” She wasn’t sure if it was praise or a warning. Both were equally viable. 

“Martin.” Her hair fell over his face when she turned her head, and he soaked in the smell of her. His name sounded so intimate on her tongue. The didn’t need to use names often among the Rowdy 3. He nuzzled under her ear, rumbling his pleasure again in that definitely-not-a-purr.

“Again.” 

Amanda took a breath. “Martin.” The graze of his teeth on her neck told her she’d done right. She tilted her head, giving him better access to her neck, and he took it, dropping his face to breathe her in and place a hot kiss on her jugular. 

“Martin.” She lifted her hips to meet his, and felt his erection, straining under the black denim. 

His hips had been pressed against hers, pinning her to the car, but he jerked back an inch, breaking their contact below the waist. This time she made the noise of desperation. Amanda rocked her hips out, eager to reconnect. Martin’s hands on her hips held her back. 

“You sure?” His face was in front of hers. She could see through his glasses now that the fire was behind him. His eyes were clear and fierce. She knew what answer he wanted, but knew he’d accept whatever she said. “It’s your show.” His eyes fell onto her lips, before sliding back up to met her gaze. “Say the word and it’s over.” His voice was rough, but honest as ever. Amanda could see the texture in the patch across his nose. She studied the mismatched hairs in his beard and eyebrow. 

“I’m sure.” She said, a little breathless, but full of a confidence she hadn’t felt in years. “I really want this.” Amanda licked her lips. “Please.” 

The “please” did him in. Martin surged forward, pressing his lips to hers. His hands left her hips and came up to frame her face. Her hands rested on his waist, feeling the thick leather of his vest shift and creak as they moved together. Amanda widened her stance and leaned onto his thigh. Martin groaned into her mouth. He ground against her, both a reward and a promise. Amanda leaned her head back and caught her breath. She slid her hands up and worked at the buttons of his vest, and then the shirt underneath. Martin gave her room to work, reveling in the feel of her hands on his skin. Her touch scratched an itch he hadn’t let himself feel. The Rowdies touched all the time. They wrestled and fought and cuddled and more, but they didn’t touch like this, with awe and reverence. Amanda’s hands were still soft, and her own clean scent rolled over him. Her hands trailed up to his neck and Martin let his head fall back. She touched his throat, running a thumb over his adam’s apple and fingers over straining tendons before sliding them back under the fabric. She started to tug at his collar, but Martin stepped back and all but ripped his shirt off. 

Amanda took him in. He was glorious. Hard, but real, not like the chiseled gym bodies with no actual miles on them. She saw the scars across his arms, but few on his trunk. He fought smart, if with some extra flair. Martin felt her eyes on him, and held himself for a moment, but he needed to feel her again. He snapped his teeth and leaned back in, catching her up in another round of vicious kisses. 

At some point, they got Amanda’s shirt off, and then they dropped his pants, and then her underwear was sacrificed to the gods of lust. She was still pressed against the destroyed car, with Martin’s hands running up her thighs, this time under her skirt. The fabric bunched around her middle and she smiled at the tickle. Skin touched skin, and Amanda could feel Martin pressed against her. He was straining with need, hot and urgent against her leg. She shifted, giving him the position they needed. Martin pressed his forehead against hers. He sucked in a desperate breath through his parted teeth. 

“Drummer girl.” He groaned. 

She knew what he needed. A gentleman in an asshole’s clothing.

“Please.” She gave it. She meant it. 

Martin shifted his hips. Amanda wrapped a leg around his waist. He reached through the broken window and took a hold of the frame of the car. His other hand was filled with her small and supple ass. He tried to go slow. He tried to be polite. With a sound like a feral bark, Martin thrust forward. She gasped, but he trusted her. He pressed on, and rumbled his joy at being inside her. Amanda sagged into his hand and pulled him harder with her raised leg. He shifted his hands, settled his footing, looked in her eyes, and began in earnest. A low heat rolled over him. Brown sugar and cinnamon.

He withdrew slowly, relishing in the feel of their joining. He thrust in, soaking in the sensations. Drinking in what she gave him. 

“Yes.” Amanda’s head fell back against the car. She moaned, mouth open and eyes closed. “Oh fuck, yes.”

Her voice spurred him. He moved faster, harder. Eager and aggressive and focused. He drew ragged breaths, mouth open and jaw set. At some point, her other leg came up, and he held her weight gladly. 

It was a short car, the angle was working. Amanda felt a climax build. It wasn’t that she hadn’t come in years. Hell, you could buy anything on Amazon. But when literally any stimuli could turn into a living nightmare, well, it was hard to feel sexy when you had to remember your pills along with your lube. Regardless, nothing beat the real thing for her. Even if this wasn’t love. Sex and love were not the same thing. Never had been. Even if he didn’t love her, this was really, really good sex.

Martin’s face was pressed in the joint of her neck and shoulder. His teeth rested on her skin, tongue touching the sweat that built there. Amanda had one hand over her shoulder, clinging to the open window in a way that would help her match his thrusts. The other hand clung to his shoulder, and as her pleasure built, she sunk her nails into his skin. Martin growled against her. 

“Do it.” She loved the Rowdiness. She wanted him to be who he was. Martin bit down on her shoulder, and Amanda shrieked. She was spicy now, like habanero candy. He was pistoning faster, building and rising with her. Her hand moved to wrap around his neck, holding him to her. Martin released her flesh and licked the marks. He turned his head and bit down again, feeling the strain in his jaw. The second bite made her clench, and he nearly lost himself. Amanda felt the difference too, and she ground her hips against him as best she could. 

She’d read several romance novels in her day, though she probably wouldn’t admit it, and although she kind of hated the metaphor of an orgasm as waves crashing over someone, she had to admit, it was pretty apt. She felt the last bit of the build, sharp and sweet, before she cried out and came hard around Martin’s thrusts. Her head fell back, neck still in his teeth. Her legs shook, and she very nearly lost her grasp around his waist. She felt Martin’s nails sink into the meat of her ass. Felt his teeth release her throat and draw a breath in through parted lips, the air cool on the saliva still on her neck. She felt the desperation of his final thrusts, driving into her with need as much as pleasure. Martin came with a shout instead of a howl like she was expecting. His voice was hoarse. His breath was hot on her chest as he rested his head on her shoulder. 

Amanda could feel the bruises forming already. She purred onto him, smiling at the thought of the marks. 

The purr brought his head up. Martin looked amazed. Incredulous even. He shifted his grip, helped her ease her shaking legs down. He broke their contact with reluctance. He leaned his forehead against hers again, catching his breath with her scent. Berries with whipped cream. 

Amanda smiled. She shared the breath like the indigenous people she saw on the documentary channel. Life and spirit and all that was in the breath. She shared herself with Martin again, and felt his heartbeat settle. 

They kissed then. Slowly now, sweet and hot. They kissed in the light of the dying fire, stickiness cooling on their bodies. Her ruined underwear was found, and sacrificed again, this time to the gods of clean up. Martin tossed them in the fire, and Amanda laughed. They put themselves back together, and Martin took her hand. He led her to his seat, then picked up the blanket and shook the worst of the dirt off. He tucked her in, and curled up next to her, making sure the bat was at the ready. He’d fight the world for her. 

“Love.” Martin breathed out. 

“Love.” Amanda breathed in. 

From the van, they could hear hushed voices and muttered smiles. They both ignored them. Amanda thought she’d have to remember to close the van door next time. Or not.


End file.
